Buddy, was a dachshund,
an older dog.
Rescued in a Walmart parking lot,
existing on God knows what,
sick, hungry and afraid.
His foster mom called him "Verloren"'
which means lost, in German.
But we called him Buddy,
because he was.
He was with us just a few years,
that was all.

****

When I woke in the morning.
Buddy lay unresponsive,
with shallow breath.
The night before he couldn't walk.
I think it's time, old friend.

At the vet,
I held him and gave the directions
in a wavering voice.
I left as soon as I could.

A dark cloud settled over our house.
That night we slept fitfully,
but the next night,
I was in an indeterminate space,
with furniture scattered about.

Buddy was under a highboy,
sleeping peacefully as he usually did.
I looked again but he wasn't there.
A moment later, I saw him again
and then he was gone.

Some will say my dream,
was just  me processing.
Or was it a sign,
a message from Buddy:
I'm OK.
It's OK.